


Yet Another T Word

by Wilusa



Category: One Life to Live
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-21
Updated: 2012-01-21
Packaged: 2017-10-29 21:54:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/324577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wilusa/pseuds/Wilusa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: My previous fic "The T Word" established that in this reality it was another character, not Todd, who'd shot Victor. That was correct; but there's much more to the story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> One Life to Live and its characters are the property of ABC; no copyright infringement is intended.

_**Note:** This fic - like the one to which it's a sequel - was, of course, intended all along to be an AU. I think I began writing it Jan. 10. I'm thrilled that we now know Victor was intended to be alive, sad that we may never learn how Head Writer Ron Carlivati meant to explain it. He would have come up with something far better than any fan efforts!_

x

x

x

Dirk Westcott strode into the room. Skipping his usual knock on the door that was always ajar.

Victor flinched, and let out a gasp.

Then he clenched his fists till his nails dug painfully into his palms. He hated himself for showing that sign of other-than-physical weakness.

Hated Westcott for causing it.

He strove, constantly, to present a brave front. But in truth, he was frightened by any deviation from routine, however slight. It might mean Westcott and his people had decided to begin _doing things to him_ , without his consent.

If they weren't doing those things already. How could he be sure? What was in those IVs the nurses stuck in him, the mush they insisted he eat? They swallowed some of it too, to reassure him. But perhaps the amount consumed was significant...

Westcott looked contrite. "Sorry I startled you, Mr. Manning." They'd let him decide what he wanted to be called, and that had been his choice. "But I'm glad to see you're well enough to be sitting up in a chair. I'd like to have a serious talk with you today, if you're feeling up to it. Okay?"

Victor said sullenly, "I want to go home."

x

x

x

He'd been saying that for months. For all the good it did him.

He remembered being shot. And after that, being on the floor, with Tea...Tea begging him to keep his eyes open, to focus on her, stay with her! He'd tried, so very hard...

He'd tried to tell her who shot him. He knew he hadn't succeeded. But he thought he _had_ managed to say, "I love you."

Trying so hard to cling to consciousness...but he'd failed, and slipped away from her, into a world where there was only pain and darkness.

After that, so much was a blur... Intervals of consciousness, when the pain was so excruciating that he couldn't think of anything else. Hazy memories of struggling against people he thought wanted to _do things to him_. Scared faces. Voices saying, "Please, stop thrashing around! We don't want to hurt you. We're trying to _help_ , and you're making things worse!"

Finally, drifting back to some kind of reality. Here, in this room.

Often - too often - with Dirk Westcott.

Doctors and nurses, or people who said they were doctors and nurses, came and went. But Westcott was the one constant, daily presence in Victor's new, warped and stunted, life. A steely-eyed thirtysomething whose neat business attire couldn't conceal a physique worthy of an NFL linebacker, Westcott was the principal spokesman for the people who said they were "trying to help." As he claimed, the CIA.

Westcott had never physically touched Victor. He'd assured him that only medical professionals were being allowed to touch him. They were paid by the CIA, yes. But they were bound by codes of professional ethics that they took very seriously.

No, they weren't putting any drugs in his system that weren't medically necessary! He'd had to undergo three major operations. So some drugs _were_ necessary, as was intravenous feeding.

Westcott had explained that the startling reappearance of the "real Todd Manning" - son of rogue operative Irene Manning - had alerted the CIA to a potentially dangerous situation in Llanview. They'd had operatives on the scene by the time Victor was shot. While he was in a coma, they'd realized he and his family might still be in grave danger.

So - with the consent of Victor's wife - they'd spirited him out of the Llanview hospital and brought him to this secure, private medical facility, which Westcott told him was in rural Virginia. All the people closest to him - his wife, all four of the children he thought of as his, his sister Viki, even his ex-wife Blair - knew where he was, and knew he was receiving the best possible care. But for now, everyone else had been tricked into believing he was dead. And because there was still so much danger, he couldn't have any form of contact with anyone.

That was what Westcott claimed.

Victor didn't believe a word of it.

x

x

x

"We want that too," Westcott said, with every appearance of sincerity. "We want to get you home to your family. But it's still too dangerous. You have to be completely well.

"At some point, you'll have to _work at_ getting completely well. That's why we gave you the photos. To, ah, motivate you. I know you want to see _them_ again..." He gestured toward the array of photos on the bedside table.

Tea. All four children. Viki. Blair. Separately and in groups. And Victor with all of them.

Victor said stiffly, "Of course." But he didn't let his gaze shift toward the photos.

He never let himself show any reaction to those photos. But they were in fact his lifeline. He lived in fear that Westcott would use them against him - threaten to take them away if he didn't cooperate.

Or worse: that he might threaten to harm the actual _people_ in the photos.

Westcott sighed. "Like I said, I want to have a serious talk with you today. Don't worry - I won't be trying to 'interrogate' you! _I'll_ be telling _you_ things. Some of those things will be unpleasant. If you want me to stop at any point, I will. You can rest, and we'll continue it another day.

"One way or another, I'll finish up today by telling you something I think you'll be very happy to hear. So you have that to look forward to.

"Got to get some stuff out of my briefcase. Just papers!"

Victor realized the man was saying that so he wouldn't be alarmed when he saw him move to open the briefcase. Wouldn't imagine, even for a moment, that Westcott was about to hurt him.

He was embarrassed at Westcott's knowing how skittish he was. But without the warning, he probably would have started violently. And that would have sent his already aching body into a paroxysm of pain.

Westcott pulled out a stack of the aforementioned "papers," and a manila envelope that might or might not hold more. He laid them on the bed; evidently, Victor would have to wait a while to learn what they dealt with.

He drew up a chair and dropped into it, facing Victor. Uncomfortably close. Then he looked at him and said levelly, "There's been a major development, Mr. Manning, that changes a lot of things.

"We now know _you've been lying to us_."

x

x

x

Victor didn't let himself change expression.

But he knew he'd lied about only one thing.

And he'd agonized over whether it was the right decision.

If the people holding him really were the CIA - the "good guys" - would they let him go if he told them the truth on that point? Would they accept his word that it was a problem _he_ could deal with, quietly and without publicity, and they should just keep their mouths shut? Or would they go public with it, and hurt someone he loved?

 _Had_ they gone public with it?

_Westcott may be bluffing._

He said coolly, "I don't lie. That's your specialty."

Westcott gave a rueful smile. "I admit I haven't told you the whole truth either. I'm prepared to do it today.

"But I really do know _your_ secret. You lied when you told us you'd been shot by a man you'd never seen before. The real shooter was your sister, Victoria Lord."

Victor started to say, "It was actually -"

Westcott was nodding. "I know. One of her alters."

Victor closed his eyes. _So it's really out in the open..._

His eyes smarted.

But Westcott was saying gently, "We understand why you lied, Mr. Manning. I don't suppose it matters to you, but no one in the Agency is critical of you." Then he gave a wry smile. "Even if it did cause us to waste a lot of time searching for a nonexistent assassin!"

"How did you find out?" Victor demanded. "Have you told everyone? Gotten Viki arrested? You had no right! The core personality doesn't know what alters do, and I didn't _want_ her to know!

"I would have consulted specialists. Found out whether I could prevent its happening again without telling her anything. Or if not, what specialists _would_ advise me to do -"

"Calm down," Westcott told him. "No one turned your sister in. She remembered it on her own - well, 'remembered' may not be the right word. I don't understand this 'DID' condition very well. Something, or some combination of things, made her realize she was the person who'd done it. And _she_ immediately told the police. That's the only reason the Agency knows."

Victor moaned.

"I know this is hard on you," Westcott continued. "On her, on everyone. But she hasn't been arrested, and won't be. Hasn't been institutionalized either. She's under a psychiatrist's care - under close observation. She has a loving family to help her through this."

The man sounded so understanding, so sympathetic, that Victor found himself opening up to him. "I was surprised when I realized you didn't already know who'd shot me! I guess I'd assumed Viki would be found wandering around with the gun in her hand.

"I knew I couldn't pretend I hadn't seen the shooter. The way I fell would have proved I'd been standing, with the shooter directly in front of me. And I couldn't accuse someone I knew hadn't done it. It was either name Viki, or tell the lie I did.

"I sort of wish it had been either my brother or my brother-in-law. I would've gladly thrown either of them under the bus!"

They both laughed.

But Victor sobered quickly. "You admitted you've lied to me. About that business of faking my death, right?"

"Uh, sort of. What made you sure I was lying?"

"Three things." Victor was watching the other man's face closely. "First, you've said all four of my children were in on the secret. But Sam's only seven years old! No one would ask a seven-year-old to keep a secret like that. If you suggested it, Tea and Blair would have told you it wouldn't work. He could never keep that kind of secret from Todd. However I may feel about it, Sam likes Todd. The first time they met, Todd saved his life!

"Then there's the matter of people's accepting that they weren't being allowed to see my dead body. Sure, Tea could have made an excuse that would satisfy acquaintances. But not Todd or Tomas. They'd demand to see it.

"But most important...Tea might have agreed to your bringing me to a place like this, and her not coming. But she wouldn't have agreed to my not being permitted to talk to her on the phone. Never! No way!

"So what's really going on? Above all... _are Tea and my kids all right?_ "

"Oh, God, yes!" Westcott looked surprised - and chastened. "I never thought you might imagine they weren't.

"But...this is one of the things I warned you might be hard to take. The truth is that not even Tea was 'in on the secret.' _**Everyone**_ believes you're dead!"

For a few seconds, Victor just stared at him, in stunned silence.

Then he began to scream.

x

x

x

A half-dozen nurses came on the run. They spent the next ten minutes trying unsuccessfully to calm Victor, trying even less successfully to get him into bed, and berating Westcott for whatever it was he'd done.

But Victor finally recovered enough to shoo them, and the two men were alone again.

He was still shaking like a leaf, short of breath, and feeling a stab of pain with every one of those breaths. But he managed to say, "You told Tea I was dead? Maybe you should kill me right now. Because if you give me time to get my strength back, I'll kill _you!_ "

"I'm sorry!" Westcott was saying that for about the tenth time. "But will you please calm down and listen to me?"

Victor was still rambling. "My God - _Viki!_ Not only does she know she shot me, she thinks she _killed_ me!"

Westcott nodded. "Yes. I admit that's terrible. But we really are trying to get you well, and back to your family. The more you fuss and fret and hurt yourself, the longer it's going to take.

"Now will you _please_ listen to me? What we - the CIA - did isn't as bad as you think."

Victor was too exhausted to do much more talking, anyway. He sighed, shrugged, and said, "Okay. Explain. If you can."

"To begin with," Westcott told him, "you really were clinically 'dead' on your living room floor, by the time paramedics got there! You'd died in your wife's arms. Attempts to resuscitate you failed. And that was understandable, because you'd lost so much blood before your wife found you. Quite aside from the wound itself - which was devastating - no one would have been expected to survive that massive a blood loss.

"You were dead. Everyone was _told_ you were dead.

"So all your loved ones had experienced that shock, that loss, _before_ the medical examiner prepared to start an autopsy - and detected a flicker of life. Evidently, all the moving of the body had somehow revived you.

"By then, like I said, the CIA was on the scene. We got involved right away, before the few medical people who knew what had happened could call anyone like the local police.

"You were taking shallow breaths on your own, but to assure your getting enough oxygen, you'd have to be put on a respirator. There was brain activity, but very little. The doctors said that if you survived long-term, you'd probably be in a vegetative state. So if they told your family you weren't dead, it wouldn't really be good news. More likely, _heartbreaking_ news, worse than what they'd already accepted.

" _That_ was the situation in which we decided to keep you officially 'dead,' bring you here, and care for you. We thought that if whoever had tried to kill you realized they hadn't succeeded, they'd keep trying, and your whole family would be in danger.

"Emergency surgery had been performed in Llanview, of course - though we knew more would be required. We were prepared to accept the worst-case scenario. We would have tried to make you comfortable, for as long as you survived. But I won't deny we were hoping for more. Hoping you'd be able to tell us, at the very least, who shot you.

"No one expected you'd make the recovery you have. But believe me, we really _want_ to be able to send you back to your family."

Victor mulled that over for a few seconds.

He could have asked, "Well, why can't you send me back _now?_ "

But he didn't.

On some level, he knew what the answer would be. And he wasn't prepared - yet - to deal with it.

But he had another question. Said, "I have a question..."

Westcott nodded. "I'm sure you do," he said quickly. "Probably more than one. But before we get into that, I should tell you about another, ah, newsworthy event that took place recently in Llanview.

"I'm not sure how you'll feel about this." Watching him closely. "Your mother, Irene Manning, is dead."

Victor sat up straighter. "Really? You're not 'testing' me, somehow? The bitch is really dead?"

"Yep, really."

"Damn it - I would have liked to kill her myself. Who did? Can't believe she died a natural death."

Westcott was grinning now. " _Todd_ killed her."

"Ye gods. So I have to wind up admiring my crappy brother? He's trying to take everything else away from me, and he gets the honor of offing Irene, too?" Then Victor had another sudden thought. "Wait. Is he being charged with murder?"

"No. There were extenuating circumstances. The situation got complicated, but here it is in a nutshell.

"First, I want to assure you nothing bad happened to your loved ones! But Irene had planted a time bomb near your house, powerful enough to kill everyone inside. At the time, that could have included even relatives of yours who don't live there.

"At a distance from the house, she shot Todd. Non-fatally, but only because she meant to keep him alive long enough to torture him by telling him about the explosion. Letting him hear it. Actually, someone found the bomb in time - couldn't defuse it, but got the family safely away. The bomb went off...Irene heard the explosion and gloated to Todd that she'd just killed all your, _and his_ , loved ones...and despite being wounded, he was so furious that he wrested the gun away from her and killed her."

After a long silence, Victor had to say, "Shit. I really do admire the guy!"

Then he said, "But...back to the question I wanted to ask. I still don't understand how you could have faked my death! _Tea's_ not knowing about it makes it seem even more impossible.

"Deaths can be faked if bodies are never recovered, or a person was supposedly burned beyond recognition - something like that. But how could you have talked my family out of wanting to look at my body?"

"Actually," Westcott said quietly, "we couldn't have.

" _We_ didn't dissuade them. _You_ did!"

x

x

x

While Victor was struggling to process what he'd just heard (could it possibly be what he thought he'd heard?), a doctor stormed into the room. Summoned, it seemed, by those aggrieved nurses.

He looked balefully at Westcott. "Get out of here! The patient needs to rest."

Victor was about to protest. But Westcott looked at _him_ , was apparently concerned by what he saw, and said, "All right, Doctor. Do you think it'll be okay for me to come back and continue our conversation in an hour or so?"

"Mr. Manning? You need rest now. But are you willing to have Mr. Westcott come back in an hour? If he's been upsetting you, tell me! Your health comes first."

"He isn't upsetting me. Yes...I want him to come back." _Am I actually saying that? The first choice I've ever been given, and I'm not asking to be rid of him. Unbelievable._

Doctor and agent exchanged curt nods, and Westcott left, leaving his belongings behind.

The doctor did a quick check of Victor's vitals - Victor involuntarily recoiling at every touch. _Damn, why can't I control this? I feel as if everyone who comes near me is trying to **violate** me, somehow._

_Well, maybe they are..._

_Or maybe I'm just confusing them with the people who've violated me before._

Apparently satisfied that not much was wrong, the doctor said grumpily, "Okay. Now to get this stuff off the bed, and you in it."

"No! I want to stay here."

He'd spent too much time in beds this past year. Hospital beds. Only six months before Viki shot him, he'd been shot and critically wounded by someone else. Never had learned who _that_ was.

So of course it made sense that he was developing an aversion to beds.

_I remember **another** bed..._

No! He simply disliked hospital beds!

The doctor sighed. "Have it your way. But only because the chair's a recliner."

He reclined it. Said, "Now lean back. Close your eyes. _Relax_."

Victor only succeeded in doing two of those things. But the doctor was satisfied. His footsteps receded. And finally, mercifully, Victor was alone.

He did need rest.

But his mind kept playing and replaying those cryptic words of Westcott's.

_" **We** didn't dissuade them. **You** did!"_

In how many ways had he been violated? Was he a person...or a puppet?

Perhaps he didn't really want to be alone. Alone with his fears, and his terrible knowledge.

_I remember saying, "I wish I was Todd Manning."_

_I've gotten past that. I don't wish I was Todd Manning._

_I just wish I was... **someone**._

_**But I'm not**_.

x

x

x

An hour later, Westcott was back, and the two men were once again sitting face to face.

Victor hadn't gotten any sleep. Or any real rest.

"Are you sure you want me to go on?" Westcott asked. "You still look tired. I've been hitting you with a lot today. Maybe it's too soon..."

Victor shook his head. "No. You said _I_ somehow kept my family from demanding to see my dead body." His voice quavered, and he hated that, but he couldn't help it. "Tell me what the hell you meant!"

Westcott reached over to the bed, and picked up the topmost of that small stack of papers. Glanced at it, then gathered up three more.

He handed one to Victor. "Read this."

Victor's hands were shaking so he could barely hold it. His vision blurred. But he blinked, and forced himself to focus on the page.

A lengthy note of some kind. Handwritten, in _his_ handwriting...

But then, "his" handwriting was exactly like Todd's...

He shuddered at that thought. Did he have a glimmer of memory, of being forced to struggle with a pen for hours on end till he could duplicate that handwriting, make it "his"? Or was he merely imagining what must have happened?

The note... It was dated. And the date seemed to prove _he'd_ written it. Years ago, within weeks of his family in Llanview's having accepted him as Todd Manning.

A note addressed to his personal physician. Telling him that after the ordeal he'd experienced at the hands of Mitch Laurence, he'd begun thinking seriously about his own mortality. And he'd decided that when he someday died, he didn't want anyone other than medical personnel and a mortician to be allowed to see his dead body. No one else, not even his closest kin!

The note continued with a rambling explanation. His enemies would come to a public "viewing" and feign respect, while they were really gloating. But beyond that...at the time of his death, he might have young children or, hopefully, grandchildren. The sight of his dead body might be traumatic for them; but if other family members were looking at it, it would be hard to refuse them. Above all, he thought of a dead body as merely an "empty shell," and he didn't want his loved ones to have that as their last memory of him.

The note was, of course, signed. With the full name he thought he bore at that time, Thomas Todd Manning.

"Look closely at the actual paper," Westcott said quietly. "You can see the impressions made by the pen. See it's the original, not a copy. The date hasn't been altered - though of course, it would require far more than tampering with a date to change _this._ "

Victor was bewildered. "I...I never wrote it!"

But even as he spoke, he was realizing how hard it would be for someone to forge handwriting throughout a note of this length.

Westcott shook his head. "Your doctor claims you did. He found the request so unusual that he insisted you give it to him in writing. In longhand."

He handed over the three other sheets. Notes saying essentially the same thing - addressed to Victor's lawyer, his minister, and the mortician who handled family funerals. "They all wanted it in writing."

While Victor sat staring blankly at the papers, Westcott droned on. "I interviewed all these men. A CIA identification badge, and the words 'national security,' open a lot of doors. I have the interviews on a flash drive - you can see them if you like. They all said you'd told them repeatedly, throughout the years, that your wishes hadn't changed.

"That made it relatively easy for _us_. Your wife was surprised, but wouldn't dream of going against what you'd wanted. She even managed to convince herself it was in character for you! And people like Todd and Tomas could hardly be suspicious, when your wishes had been on record for years."

_"I...I don't understand!"_

But Westcott, eyes locked on his, said, "Don't you?"

The agent reached for more papers. "Do you remember what was in your will, Mr. Manning?"

Victor gulped. "Of - of course I do. It was supposedly the will of Thomas Todd Manning. That's who I thought I was. I left virtually everything to Tea and my children..."

Then he said weakly, "Didn't I?"

"Afraid not. Read _this_."

When Victor realized what he was seeing, he almost screamed again.

"This will left everything to _Irene Manning?_ My God - it's a fake! Aside from the fact I wouldn't have left her one red cent, I didn't know she was alive!"

Grasping at straws, he said, "The damn _will_ isn't in longhand. All someone would have had to forge here is my signature."

Westcott was shaking his head. "Look at these other wills. You supposedly changed your will several times during your years in Llanview, as your family changed. But all the wills are actually the same - leaving everything to Irene.

"I have recorded interviews with lawyers about that, too. They say you drove them nuts. You'd come in to 'change your will,' jabber about it for an hour or so as you considered one change after another, and always wind up not having changed it at all."

Victor buried his face in his hands.

Then he was struck by a horrible realization. "Oh my God. Everyone thinks I'm dead...so this travesty of a will has actually been probated?"

"Yes. Irene inherited everything, even the _Sun_. But don't forget, she's dead now! Her will left all of it to her daughter Tina. _But_ " - in response to Victor's strangled gasp - "Tina realized most of that fortune had been built up, at different times, by Todd and by you. She was decent enough to give it all to Todd. He loves the children as much as you do. And if Tea were ever in need - which she isn't - he'd look out for her."

Warming to his subject, Westcott continued, "Todd had intended to challenge that will of yours. He might have had a case, arguing that you weren't the real Todd Manning. That's probably why Irene decided to kill him, and blow up all other potential heirs.

"What's most important now, though, is that you realize you were doing things, all those years, that you wouldn't have chosen to do...and _forgot_ after you'd done them."

When Victor didn't respond, he said, "Do you see what Irene's plan was, from the time she sent you there? To make herself heir to that fortune. And she thought she might decide, at some point, that she needed it in a hurry. So she'd set up a way to lift you out of Llanview, fake your death, and inherit!"

"Yes, yes." Victor still felt shell-shocked. "I'm not surprised at her being cold-hearted enough to want that. But I...can hardly believe...what she did to me. That she was... _able to_...use me in that way..."

Westcott said, "There's evidence you've done quite a few illegal things over the years, to benefit Irene and her cronies. I suspect that if I showed you the evidence, you wouldn't remember having done any of that, either."

Victor closed his eyes, and a long shudder ran through him. He whispered, _"Tomas_."

"What?"

"Tomas Delgado. My brother-in-law. After he found out who I am... _what_ I am...he kept insisting I posed a danger to Tea. Said I'd been brainwashed. 'Programmed,' maybe, to do God knows what, and I could never be trusted.

"I refused to listen to him.

"But he was right all along."

"Yes," Westcott said softly. "I'm afraid he was."

"So I can never go home. Unless I let you... _do things to me_. Drug me, hypnotize me, whatever."

"Yes. I hope we can help you. Find out whether you've been programmed with more...post-hypnotic suggestions that could cause you to do certain things in certain situations, and then forget them. When our experts know exactly what's been done to you, they may be able to _un_ do it."

Victor managed a weak smile. "I notice you're saying 'hope' and 'may.' No guarantees. You make it sound like defusing a bomb."

Westcott didn't say anything to contradict that interpretation.

Victor wished he had.

After a strained silence, Victor said, " 'Undoing what's been done to me' - does that include my having been given Todd's memories?"

Westcott shifted uncomfortably. "I can't be sure. No one has experience with a case like this. You will have to...recover your real self. You might still have access to Todd's memories, without the feeling that they're yours. Or they might be gone."

_But what if I don't **have** a "real self"?_

Victor tried another tack. Seeking a way out. "At the end...back in Llanview...I'd broken whatever hold Irene may have had on me! When she was being held at the police station, she called and asked me to come and help her. I went...let her think I'd softened, wanted to hug her and be hugged by her...and then I tried to strangle her. That's the thing I'm proudest of, in my whole life..."

He saw the look on Westcott's face.

And felt as if something inside him had shriveled and died.

"You were in the _police station_ ," Westcott said gently. "There was no chance you'd be able to harm her.

"And thus, no proof you weren't doing exactly what she wanted. She may have had some reason for wanting the police - and you yourself - to believe you couldn't possibly be on her side. Who knows what you might have done later, if you hadn't been 'killed'?"

_"Damn!"_

Another long silence.

Then Victor said, as steadily as he could, "I don't think you understand...I don't think anyone can understand...the position I'm in.

"Try to imagine...a 40-story building. It's a wobbly, unstable building. Then someone decides to just _yank out_ the foundation and the lowest thirty floors. Whoop! They're gone! Just gone, disintegrated! So the ten floors on top are hanging there in the air, with no support. They fall, right? They fall, and they shatter into millions of pieces that can never be put together again."

"Uh, yes..."

"That's what may happen to _me_ , if you yank out _the first three-quarters of my life._

"I have all Todd's memories, first-person memories, of that much of my - my, his, whatever - life. No memories of anything else in that time period."

_I remember **another** bed..._

_No memories, no memories!_

"It's a problem for me now. Sometimes I remember things, and I have to ask myself, was that me, or Todd? I have to wrack my brain till I can figure out exactly when the thing happened. Because that's the only way I can tell the difference. It could drive me crazy if I let it. It wasn't so bad back in Llanview, because there was always so much going on that I didn't have time to dwell on it. But now..."

He shook his head. Took a deep breath.

"Now I realize that I'm...at best...a _semi-real person_."

Westcott's face had gone white. "That's ridiculous. Of course you're a real person!"

"No, I'm not! Oh, the forty-year-old human body is real enough. But what's in it is just a hodgepodge of Todd Manning's memories, grafted onto...not much. Everything I've done in recent years, every choice I've made, has been influenced by things I _thought_ I'd experienced in the past, behaviors I _thought_ I'd learned and exhibited in the past. And it was all a lie.

"I seem to be an intelligent man. A _competent_ man. I've been running the _Sun_ for years, better than Todd ever did.

"But when Irene was brought to Llanview, she...told me things. Things that almost had to be true, because my life couldn't have played out the way it did if they weren't.

"I got the impression that originally, I was...I was...I guess what we're supposed to call it now is 'developmentally disabled.' _Severely_ 'developmentally disabled.' "

_I remember **another** bed..._

"I had no real 'life,' none, for over thirty years! I was just...maybe, a man-sized baby. Or maybe, no better than Irene's lapdog."

_I remember **another** bed..._

"With me being no more than a 'blank slate,' she was able to _copy_...everything that was Todd...into me. Using drugs and hypnosis.

"If you take that out, I might be...okay, damn it, I'll use the word! I might be what that _retarded_ son of hers would have been at forty, if the copying had never taken place. And without a 'mommy' to take care of me.

"But I might be in worse condition than that, _because_ the copying had been done and removed!

"I might wind up in that 'vegetative state' you mentioned before. Or I might be conscious and suffering - in a living hell, with what's left of my mind so jumbled that I wouldn't be able to function even as well as I did originally."

Minutes passed before Westcott found words to reply.

"I...I'd never considered that. None of us had. It's such a totally new situation...

"Aside from making you less of a threat to others, we've hoped you'd be able to give us some info about Irene's operation. Whether we still need to be concerned about it, with her gone. But that isn't worth the risks you described.

"As far as we know, Irene was just a criminal - not an enemy of the United States, for ideological reasons. It's highly unlikely you've been 'programmed' to assassinate a public figure, or carry out any sort of terrorist activity.

"So maybe, if we were to - somehow - supervise you closely, we could let you go back to your wife and family without 'tampering' with you in any way..."

Victor sighed. "No. By now I've thought about it too much. Now _I_ couldn't accept my posing even a slight risk to them.

"And...I've been forced to think about it so much that if I went home now, and there was never an indication I'd been 'programmed' to do anything dangerous, I still wouldn't be able to lead a normal life.

"I'm too aware of what I am.

"And what I'm not."

Westcott said, "I'm truly sorry." He seemed to know the words were inadequate. "Everyone here will be, when they learn about your concerns.

"But does this mean you _will_ let us perform the procedures we were considering? Not right now, but after you've had more time to heal physically? Think about it - you don't have to give me an answer now.

"Remember, while I can't guarantee a good outcome, it's not impossible!"

Victor was nodding. "I know that. And I don't need more time to think about it. The answer is yes...on one condition.

"You have to promise that if I come out of it badly impaired, you won't send me home to Tea. Take care of me or euthanize me - your choice! But leave my loved ones believing what they do now."

Westcott choked out the words, "I promise."

Tentatively, he held out his hand. Victor took it, and they exchanged a somber handshake.

The first physical contact they'd had.

x

x

x

But then Westcott said, in a shaky voice, "Oh! I almost forgot that good thing I meant to tell you."

Victor had to do a quick mental "rewind" of everything they'd said. "The thing I'd be happy to hear? I thought it was the news Irene is dead."

"No." Westcott was finally smiling. "I wasn't sure how you'd react to that! Glad you enjoyed it.

"The other thing... Well, you've never seemed to care much about those family photos..."

"That was an act," Victor said quickly. "Believe me, I do care. Very much."

"That's great, then!" Westcott reached for the manila envelope he'd brought, and put it in Victor's hands. "This is a new one. Take a look."

Victor fumbled the envelope open.

A photograph, but a strange one, not what he'd been expecting...

And then he realized what it was.

"My God. Is this...a _sonogram?_ "

Westcott was beaming, but there were tears in the big man's eyes. "Yep. Your and Tea's child, due in May! Too soon to know the sex. But we've learned Tea's thrilled to be carrying it..."

If he said any more, Victor didn't hear. He was too caught up in trying, through his own tears, to make out details of the photo.

_Due in May? I don't even know what month this is. But he said this is a new photo, and it's too soon to know the sex..._

_Maybe I really **am** \- or can be - "someone." Someone Tea needs, someone this baby needs._

_Don't be in too much of a hurry, little one. Wait for Daddy to get home!_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Easter Sunday, 2012**_.

Tea Delgado laid a bouquet of early spring flowers on the monument to Victor Lord Junior. Took a few steps backward, and gazed at it.

She knew the monument was too pretentious. Too large, the lettering too bold, by comparison with the other stones around it. But back in September, when she approved it, she'd wanted to scream to the world that even though this man had only been in Llanview for a few years, only been known by his true name for a few days, he'd been _important. Irreplaceable!_

She didn't feel any special sense of his presence here. That wasn't surprising, given what she'd learned about his belief that a dead body is no more than an "empty shell." Actually, that had always been her view as well. And she didn't believe anything as simplistic as what the adults had told Sam: "Daddy is in Heaven." She did believe Victor's essence still existed, somewhere. But it was on another plane...in another dimension.

Inaccessible.

What she felt here - and everywhere, even after all these months - was aching awareness of his _absence_.

She thought, wistfully, of the meaning of Easter. The Christian belief that Jesus had risen from the dead.

Llanview had seen more than its share of "resurrections" over the years. But all the ones she could remember had either been missing-presumed-dead cases, or involved misidentified bodies.

Of course, Victor had once been tricked into believing _she_ was dead! But on that occasion, she herself had been duped into believing she had a terminal illness, given drugs - by a doctor she trusted - that made her health seem to be failing, and finally persuaded to "spare" her loved ones by going off to die alone in a distant hospice. Victor had been given an urn that supposedly contained her ashes. The whole thing had been part of a plot - by a now long-deceased criminal - to steal her daughter Dani's inheritance. And the only reason she hadn't wound up dead was that the doctor, who was himself being blackmailed, had been unable to go through with the scheme.

Except for the existence of a fake will, there were no parallels to this situation.

 _Sorry, Tea, we're fresh out of miracles. When your husband dies in your arms, that's it. He's gone._

The child in her womb picked this moment to stir. _Oh yes, my darling_ , she thought in response, _**you're** my miracle! And some part of your Daddy will live on in you. But I so wish you and he could have known each other..._

As she was about to turn away from the grave, she heard footsteps coming up behind her. Turning quickly, she saw a tall, powerfully built man who seemed familiar, but whom she couldn't immediately place.

He gave a cautious smile, as if he wasn't sure a smile was appropriate here. "Ms. Delgado?"

"Uh -" Suddenly, she remembered who he was. A CIA agent who'd spoken with her once, months ago. She'd learned he'd talked to a good many Llanview residents, none of whom felt free to discuss what had been said. "Agent...Westcott, is it? I'm surprised to see you here."

 _Here_ meaning both "back in Llanview" and "at Victor's grave."

"Especially," she added, "on Easter Sunday."

"Yep, 'Westcott' is right," he said more easily. "And I'd actually forgotten about Easter. I was just thinking of this being a _weekend_. When I could make a trip back to Llanview, on my own time. And while I'm here, I wanted to pay my respects at your husband's grave."

"That's, uh, very thoughtful."

She stepped aside to let him "pay his respects," in whatever way he'd intended. He faced the monument, crossed himself, bowed his head, and seemed to be murmuring a prayer.

She could have left him there and headed to her car. But she decided that would be rude.

So she waited till he crossed himself again and turned back to her. Then she asked, "But _why_ did you want to come to Llanview, on your own time?"

He grimaced. "So I could check on the people who were caught up in that mess last year, see how all of you are doing.

"Believe me, a lot of us in the Agency feel guilty about what happened! Our psychologists dropped the ball when Irene Manning was recruited. They should have weeded her out - realized she was a dangerous psychopath. And to make matters worse, the Agency had done enough shady things that after she went rogue, she was able to blackmail us. That's why our people couldn't put an end to her operation long ago."

"I want to make sure we're clear on one thing," Tea said slowly. "You do understand that my husband wasn't in league with her? That he really believed, all those years, that he was Todd Manning?"

"Oh yes, we know that! We know he was just as much an innocent victim as his brother Todd."

Having been reassured on that point, she fell into step beside him as they walked toward their cars.

"Actually," she said, "no one's doing very well. Viki - that is, Victoria Lord -"

"I know the names of all the people who were involved," Westcott said quickly. "Go on."

They came to a halt, standing near their cars.

"Viki's still devastated," she told him, "at knowing she killed her brother. And she's still worrying about others! Trying to convince the other half-dozen of us who blame ourselves that it was all her fault, that if she hadn't killed Victor that night, she would have done it some other night."

"Wait a minute. How can another half-dozen people blame themselves? And you said 'us' - are you including _yourself?_ "

"Yes," she said somberly. "My daughter Dani and I both know it wouldn't have happened if one or the other of us had been home that night. But I can't even admit how guilty I feel, because I have to keep telling Dani _she_ shouldn't feel guilty.

"Todd blames himself because he'd taken the gun from a safe at Blair's house, then gone to Viki, telling her what he was tempted to do with it - and he'd let her take it away from him. Blair blames _her_ self because she'd brought the gun to Todd's attention, then neglected to close the door of the safe.

"Young Shane Morasco - you know who he is?"

Westcott nodded. "Yes. I don't know all the details. But...he was a kid who blamed Todd's son Jack for the death of his mother, right? And blamed Victor for having pulled strings so Jack would get off scot free."

"Right. I've never claimed Victor was a saint.

"Shane came to our house with a gun that night, intending to kill Jack _and_ Victor. But after he conked Jack over the head, outside the front door, he realized he couldn't kill anyone. In fact, he put Jack in his car and left him near the ER.

"But Jack's keys had wound up on the ground outside our door. That was how Viki got in. So Shane's convinced _he_ caused Victor's death - after he'd decided he couldn't take a human life, couldn't bear having such a thing on his conscience! He feels even more guilty because his mother actually turned up alive.

"And Jack - who adored Victor - blames himself because he'd given Shane good reason to come after him."

Sadly, she concluded, "The whole town is still feeling the consequences of that killing. Both its newspapers are floundering, because their publishers - Viki and Todd - are in no condition to run them. Todd's in almost as bad a shape, psychologically, as Viki."

"Whew!" To his credit, she thought, Westcott looked stunned. "The CIA should probably pay reparations to the people we've hurt. I'm surprised we haven't been sued."

"No one needs your money," she said bitterly. "We all happen to have plenty of that.

"It just proves money can't buy happiness."

"But _you_ at least have..." He gestured, awkwardly, toward her ample belly.

"Yes." She smiled, in spite of herself. "Looking back now, I don't think I would have survived if I didn't."

"And you have your daughter Dani." He asked casually, "Where's she this morning?"

Tea glanced at her watch. "Right now she's probably in church - with her boyfriend. I didn't tell her I was coming here. I hope she'll spend most of the day with Nate. His family's had sorrow to deal with recently, too. And those two kids are good for each other."

"So you're not expected anywhere, any time soon?"

"Uh, no..." _What's he driving at?_

He said thoughtfully, "This just occurred to me. The CIA has been following up on what happened here, learning more about Irene Manning's crimes. I have information I planned all along to share with you - documents you need to see. I meant to make an appointment to come by your home. But since you're free now...

"I checked into the Palace last night. I don't have those documents with me - they're back at the hotel. Why don't you come over there with me, and look at them now?"

She hesitated. "I'm not sure I _want_ to look at...whatever they are. Victor's dead, Irene's dead. What's the point - for me, at least - of 'learning more'?"

"Believe me, there are details you'll be glad to know."

"It might actually be better if you bring the materials to my house..."

Frowning, he said, "No, I don't think that would be advisable. Dani and her boyfriend might pop in at any time, right? And these are very serious subjects, better not discussed - at least for now - with other family around."

She found it hard to believe she'd be "glad to know" whatever he meant to share with her. _But if I put it off, he'll pester me later. Later **today** , if he's only here for the weekend. And then Dani **may** have to be involved, and hear the horror of Victor's death discussed all over again._

"All right," she said reluctantly. "Let's head for the Palace."

As they were getting into their separate cars, she looked back toward Victor's grave. And even though she felt no special sense of his being there, she whispered, "I love you."

x

x

x

She was surprised to learn Westcott had taken a suite, rather than a single room. _I guess the CIA pays well!_

He made sure she was comfortably settled on a sofa. Offered her a cup of tea. "I know you can't drink alcohol now..."

"No, and I wouldn't want it this early in the day anyway. But I don't want tea either, thank you. Where are the documents you need to show me?"

"Uh...there really are 'documents' of a sort that you can look at later, if you want to. To clarify things. 'Documents' like the multiple wills your husband had drawn up, that all left his estate to Irene Manning -"

 _"What?"_ She'd always assumed that infamous will was a fake - though she'd never understood how Irene could have gotten a fake will substituted for Victor's real one so quickly. At the time, she'd been too distraught to undertake an investigation.

Westcott had pulled up a chair and settled himself opposite her, facing her. Despite her bewilderment at what she'd just heard, she couldn't help being amused. _The way he's used to sitting when he interrogates people!_

Amusement turned to alarm when he spoke. "I have a confession to make, Ms. Delgado. The 'documents' were just an excuse. I really brought you here for another reason.

"And I didn't just 'run into you' in the cemetery. I followed you there. I wanted to meet you in a place where it would make sense that I wasn't carrying things like a briefcase full of papers. So I could get you to come here, rather than my going along to your place with you."

"Wh-why?" _My God. He can't have anything sexual on his mind, can he? When I'm eight months pregnant?_

"Don't worry - I actually have good news for you! That you may want to, um, celebrate, just at first, in a place that's a little more private than your home, where Dani and Nate and other family could be in and out at any time.

"Ms. Delgado...I know your husband died in your arms. But after that...remember how you never saw the body after it had been embalmed?"

"Y-yes..." _What in God's name...?_

"The truth is, there never was an embalming. When the medical examiner was about to begin the autopsy, he detected signs of life... Ms. Delgado? Are you all right?"

For a moment, she'd clamped her hands over her mouth. But now she dropped them, and screamed at him, "For God's sake, _tell me!_ Get to the bottom line! _**Is Victor alive?''**_

"Yes."

"Ohhh..." Tears were streaming down her cheeks. She wasn't sure any of this was real. But still, she began bombarding Westcott with questions. "Where is he? _**How**_ is he? What have you done to him?" And finally, screaming again. _**"I want you to take me to my husband!"**_

Then another voice - barely more than a whisper - said, "Tea...I'm right here."

And there he was, standing in the doorway of the adjoining bedroom.

He too was crying.

x

x

x

A moment later they were locked in an embrace. Despite her girth, Tea had moved quickly enough to meet him halfway between door and sofa. But then they got back to the sofa, and were lost for some indeterminate period of time in an orgy of kissing, hugging, and groping, tears flowing all the while. He gave special attention to her abdomen - lovingly caressing it, murmuring terms of endearment to their baby.

But he finally pulled away from her to say, "Dirk! If it'd taken you much longer to get to the damn point, I would've jumped out and said 'Boo!' "

Westcott, with a somewhat dazed smile on his face, was pouring himself a drink. Tea noted with amusement that _he_ evidently didn't think it was too early for alcohol.

_Or maybe it's afternoon now? I've lost track._

She too began - finally - to form words. "Victor...my darling...it's really you? You're really here, really all right?"

"It's really me. But my name isn't Victor."

She stiffened. _Oh God, no. After all this, he can't be thinking he's Todd again!_

Her eyes - probably showing her anxiety - met Westcott's. And _his_ eyes seemed to be saying _It's all right._

Victor - _or whoever_ , she thought - was quick to explain what he'd meant. "Don't worry, I'm not imagining I'm Todd!

"I'm _Tyler_. Tyler Manning, at your service. Isn't that a much better name than 'Victor Lord'?"

"Oh, yes!" Now that she understood, she was delighted. This was the perfect - and laughably simple - solution to the problem of Viki's alter confusing him with their hated father. All he had to do was change the stupid _name!_ And "Tyler Manning" fit him like a glove. "I love it!"

x

x

x

Then it was time for explanations. Tea listened, with mounting horror, as the two men - constantly interrupting one another - told her essentially the same story Westcott had told Victor all those months ago.

Trembling, she clung to the man she was now determined to think of as Tyler. "So they put you through - months? - of drugs and hypnosis? I can't imagine such a thing! If I'd known about it, I would have insisted on being there with you, every step of the way."

"It was pretty bad," he admitted. "After every day when they drugged and hypnotized me and spent hours poking around in my memories, they allowed me three days to rest. But sometimes I was so confused and frightened that they had to keep me sedated. I imagined being that way for the rest of my life, and there were times when I wanted to give up and die.

"But in a way, you _were_ with me. Whenever I wasn't being forced into the past, I tried to think about you, about how badly I wanted to get back to you.

"And in the end it was worth all I had to go through, to discover the things I did.

"I was able to remember, and describe, enough that the CIA's experts could fill in the picture. The truth is that I never was...developmentally disabled. Psychologists later told us that if I had been, Irene almost certainly couldn't have turned me into a 'second Todd.' But she had some sick need to keep me a passive, dependent child. Her 'baby.' So she kept me drugged, all the time! There were drugs in everything I ate and drank.

"She made me - and everyone who knew I existed - believe I was 'different.' Because I was so 'different,' she encouraged me to be _proud_ \- as a thirty-year-old man! - that I could walk and talk, feed myself, and, with help, dress myself. But of course I couldn't do _complicated_ things, like tying my own shoelaces..."

"Oh, God!" Tea was in tears again.

"But..." He swallowed hard, finally managed to go on. "I'd really been _afraid_ to remember that part of my life, because I thought Irene might have...used me for sex."

"No!"

"It's okay - as it turned out, she didn't! Whenever we were together - when she wasn't traveling, leaving me with caregivers - she had me sleep in the bed with her. But she never did anything to me, sexually. Just _cuddled_ me, like a mother might do with a toddler. It was sick, disgusting...but not as bad as I'd feared. I never sensed anything sexual."

Tea was shaking her head in disbelief. "And _you_ didn't feel any...sexual stirrings, being in bed with a woman like that?"

"No. Because of the drugs." He too was shaking his head. "It still amazes me to think about this. When I came to Llanview I thought I'd been married, fathered children, even led a gang rape. And I was actually a _virgin!_

"Getting back to the memories I recovered...I confused the CIA guys totally when I told them my name was Tyler, that no one had ever called me Victor."

"What? Wait a minute!" Now _Tea_ was hopelessly confused. "I thought you meant to _change_ your name! You're saying it always was Tyler?"

"Yes." Both men were nodding.

Westcott - who'd seemingly tried to make himself invisible while Tyler described the most painful aspects of his youth - spoke up now. "We looked up all the records, and found he had it right. Irene had legally named her twin sons Thomas Todd Manning and Thomas _Tyler_ Manning."

A still-befuddled Tea heard herself make the inane comment, "She certainly seemed to like the letter T."

"Suggested by the 'Thomas' part of it," Tyler said helpfully. "That literally means 'twin.' "

"Oh, that's right! I remember having read that somewhere, now that I think of it. I'm sure most people don't give a thought to it when they use the name. Like my parents, with Tomas.

"But if no one had ever called you Victor, why...?"

Westcott said quietly, "That led us to discover some of the worst things Irene did. When we pieced it all together, here's what we came up with.

"By early 2011, Tyler - still believing he was Todd - was shaking off some of Irene's 'programming,' without being aware of it. He was just doing things like declining investment opportunities, when Irene had wanted his decisions to go the other way. She figured he was no longer an asset, and could become a major problem. So she tried to have the son she 'loved' killed."

Tea gasped. " _Irene_ was behind that attempt on his life in March?" And then she was struck by a sudden realization. "She would have inherited his estate, even then!"

"Right. All she would have had to do was show up and claim it. But when that attempt failed, she decided not to risk trying again too soon. Figured he'd take extra precautions for a while, but eventually let his guard down.

"After Todd escaped, she knew the whole setup in Llanview was going to be exposed. So... _she let herself be captured._ "

Tea could only stare at him, open-mouthed. She half-expected Tyler to cut in, objecting, "That's crazy!" But he didn't.

"Remember," Westcott continued, "Irene didn't have any fear of capture." He grimaced. "She knew she could always blackmail _us_ into getting her released.

"She let herself be taken to Llanview in handcuffs just so she could tell her story explaining the 'two Todds.' And the story was true...except for her claim that Tyler's real name was Victor Lord Junior. She knew _he_ couldn't deny it. He couldn't remember ever having been anyone but Todd."

"But why...?"

"She did it," Westcott said grimly, "to assure that one of Viki's alters would kill him!"

Tea sat for a minute in stunned silence. Clinging to Tyler's hand.

At last she said, "But there must have been easier ways to kill him..."

Westcott nodded. "Sure. She could have had her man Baker take him out. But she was evidently so jealous of Viki that she wanted to destroy _her_ life, too.

"She must have been royally pissed when it seemed no one was going to discover Viki had done it. The only person who'd ever known was Todd, and he'd blocked the memory because he found it so horrifying.

"Irene apparently never realized Todd had once known the truth. When she briefly had access to him, she used her hypnotic techniques to make him believe for a while that _he'd_ been the shooter."

After they'd pondered that for a few seconds, Tyler said, "Damn. I don't wish that fiend was alive now. But I wish she'd lived long enough to know _I'm_ still here!"

x

x

x

Turning to Tea, he said, "I _am_ here. And I really believe I'm stable enough to lead a normal life. Wouldn't have come back if I didn't. The CIA's team of shrinks gave me the green light, too.

"I still have Todd's memories. But they're sort of vague, less of a first-person sense about them. It's like I remember having been elsewhere, dreaming about what was happening to Todd. I remember just enough to help me to function.

"In some ways, I'm still getting to know myself. I'm not sure whether I even want to fight Todd over ownership of the _Sun_. But I think I'm still the kind of man who could build a fortune from scratch...if I decide I want to.

"What I'm _sure_ of is that I love you and my family as much as I ever did."

"And that's all I care about." Nestling closer to him on the sofa, she guided his hand to her abdomen. "The baby is - oh, do you _want_ to know the baby's sex?"

He was smiling. "I already do. Dirk has excellent sources in Llanview." (So he'd already known everything she'd told him in the cemetery!) "I love our _son_."

"You're really happy he's a boy?"

"Of course!" Tyler looked puzzled for a moment. Then he said softly, "You were thinking that because I have one son, I might have preferred this child be a daughter?

"Tea, I still think of myself as having two sons and two daughters. I love them all equally, and if Todd isn't willing to share, I _will_ fight him over that.

"I didn't care whether this baby was a boy or girl. But he's a special miracle because he's _ours_ , yours and mine."

"Agreed." After a tender kiss, she said, "I'd been planning to name him Victor Lord the Third. That's a no-go now!" _Mercifully. I never really liked it_. "How about Tyler Manning Junior?"

"He won't be a Junior," Tyler pointed out, "without having that first name Thomas. And he's not a twin! So...just Tyler Manning. I like being called Tyler, and the baby can be called Ty."

"Perfect!" Tea thought everything about this day - this _Easter_ \- was turning out to be perfect.

One thing could make it more so...

Tyler anticipated her. He asked, "Uh, would it be safe at this point in the pregnancy for us to...uh...really get together?"

"Yes! It hasn't been a problem pregnancy. I'm sure we won't shock the baby!"

About to start ripping Tyler's clothes off, she belatedly remembered Westcott. Looking up, she saw him good-naturedly heading for the door.

"I'm gone. For hours." He grinned. "I'm not sure whether either of you kids noticed it...but you're actually in the _bridal suite!_ "

x

x

x

The End


End file.
